


Your Hand

by Kaname



Series: The Manchester Series [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: I'm a sappy loser, M/M, and yes this was always the plan, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 20:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12490408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaname/pseuds/Kaname
Summary: The crowd began to stir, several audience members gripping the plastic of the seats in front of them, struggling to see Derek’s sweaty, shaking body as he proudly held his heart in his palms in front of a million of his fellow countrymen.Derek couldn’t help the smile that fractured his face in two.





	Your Hand

Derek Hale didn’t fake injuries.

The whole business was despicable; an excuse for poor losers and players alike to sneak an unearned penalty shot and cultivate the crowd’s undeserved sympathy and rapt attention.

Derek Hale didn’t fake injuries.

Until the day that he did.

The whole thing went a little like this.

# ❀

It all started with a football game, which, obviously, most of Derek’s days did.

Of course, most football games didn’t make Derek’s heart race and hands tremble quite like this one.

“Are you ready?” Isaac whispered. The final seconds plastered on the scoreboard were almost a mockingly bright red. The crowd was buzzing. They were up by three. There was no doubt they were going to pull it out - everyone was getting restless. If he was going to pull this off, he had to do it now. Isaac’s hand was resting comfortingly on his shoulder. Derek didn’t think anything could comfort him at this point.

“Not at all,” Derek whispered back. “Remind me why I thought this was good idea?”

“Because Stiles is a sucker for grand, romantic gestures?”

“Right.”

“You’ve got it in your pocket, yeah?”

Derek’s stomach churned. “Yeah, I grabbed it from my duffle when we got a drink after the last play.”

Isaac gave him a soft smile, and the joy in his eyes made Derek's water threateningly. “Boyd’s ready to go. Good luck, Der.”

The whistle blew, and Derek jogged silently back out onto the pitch. He could practically feel Stiles’ passionate cheers, loud and boisterous; the sound of the grass squeaking beneath his cleats was the only thing keeping him grounded and upright. He could barely feel his hands, let alone his legs.

The play went fast. Faster than he wanted it to. Faster than he’d thought it would. A snap, a breath, and Boyd’s foot was “accidentally” shooting under Derek’s in his rush to “find” the ball. Derek’s fall to the grass was only partially exaggerated.

The crowd grew silent, worried whispers crescendo-ing around the pitch. The teams’ medics jogged quickly up beside Derek as he clutched his thigh, feeling the last of the breath he’d been holding ghost across his lips.

“Cover me,” he told the first medic to reach him, a girl with kind eyes, who knelt down beside his leg while Derek reached into his pocket.

He took a heartbeat to collect himself.

Then, in one deft sweep, the medics dispersed, and Derek was kneeling.

The stadium, if it was possible, went even quieter.

Derek held a solitary, velvet red box aloft. “Stiles Stilinski!”

It was the loudest he'd ever been. The loudest he’d ever be. The camera caught Stiles’ shell-shocked expression just in time. His hands flew to cover his mouth, his father just smiling placidly behind him.

“I love you!” He shouted. His voice was hoarse. Quivering, almost. “And I have since long before you can imagine."

The crowd began to stir, several audience members gripping the plastic of the seats in front of them, struggling to see Derek’s sweaty, shaking body as he proudly held his heart in his palms in front of a million of his fellow countrymen.

Derek couldn’t help the smile that fractured his face in two.

Stiles’ hands dropped to reveal a devastating, tearful mirror of that very smile.

“Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

# ❀

Derek Hale didn’t fake injuries.

But since it meant he got to look at those pale, freckled fingers wearing a glistening, silver band for the rest of eternity.

Well.

Derek was glad he’d made an exception.


End file.
